n.
1. An acrobatic stunt in which the body rolls forward or backward in a complete revolution with the knees bent and the feet coming over the head.
2. A complete reversal, as of sympathies or opinions.

Thursday, December 31, 2009

I saw it in his eyes. He didn't want to leave, but he also couldn't stay. So I made the decision for him. I shot him in the foot.

1. mmm. beets. for the young and pink at heart.2. sweater clips. were they ever in? can't have too many of those.3. broaches. yes i have some dandy pass-me-downs from grandmothers and great aunts. they're beautiful and underestimated.4. pearls of course.5. potpourri. never thought i would say this, but i have a collection of old, dried-up, decrepit roses and flowers given to me by loves and hates, dating back to 1995.6. china cups. wish i could have afternoon tea out on the terrace every day. but first, i guess i'd need a terrace.

She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies,And all that’s best of dark and brightMeets in her aspect and her eyes;Thus mellow’d to that tender lightWhich Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,Had half impair’d the nameless graceWhich waves in every raven tressOr softly lightens o’er her face,Where thoughts serenely sweet expressHow pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o’er that browSo soft, so calm, yet eloquent,The smiles that win, the tints that glow,But tell of days in goodness spent,—A mind at peace with all below,A heart whose love is innocent.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

I'd really like to give this a shot. I stumbled upon this serial novel by Stephen Emms when reading his Guardian post about Falling out of Love with Murakami. I think I feel the same way. Ok, Ok. I've only ever read one Murakami novel so I'm not exactly being objective. But I've never quite understood why people rave about him so. I'm pretty sure I started with the wrong Murakami...But even still. I tried to love him. I really did. Only the love affair was over before it began. It's like that for me sometimes. I open the book. I'm all expectations. I read the first sentence. I re-read the first sentence (a must), and very quickly begin to drift away. It's partly attention deficit - yes. But it's also that the novel isn't that intriguing to me. I felt the same way about On Beauty by Zadie Smith. I wanted to be friends with her. And I got about 1/3 through that novel. But in the end, it just wasn't enough to keep me going. Nevertheless, for Zadie's sake and mine, I've decided to shelf the book and try again in a couple of years. My attention span will hopefully mature with age and fingers crossed her writing does as well.

Back to Stephen. Love the title of his story: "Happiness is an Option". Now if only the rest of it can live up to such a grand statement.

I think I want to go back to reading more poetry.Is there anything wrong with that?

Let us go then, you and I,When the evening is spread out against the skyLike a patient etherized upon a table;Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,The muttering retreatsOf restless nights in one-night cheap hotelsAnd sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:Streets that follow like a tedious argumentOf insidious intentTo lead you to an overwhelming question. . . Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"Let us go and make our visit.